Maze
by Loco Vampire
Summary: Blu is deposited in a community of male birds after his memory is erased, soon he learns that they're all trapped in a maze that will require him to join forces with fellow "gladers" for a shot at escape. (Based on the movie that based upon the book "The Maze Runner", OCs featured in this story belong to their respective owners.) RnR.
1. Day one

Hello, fellow authors. Not sure if you know all about me. Lately I've been obsessed with some books that I read, and it turns out that they already made two movies based upon it. _(Can't wait for the third one!)_

It's called "The Maze Runner" by James Dashner. It's a hell interesting and intense tales that I can't put it down. So the point is, I have been wondering:

What would it be like if the characters were our OCs from Rio Fandom?

Basically, this will be like Rio FanFiction OCs being gathered together, bringing back the old times, or something like that. I open a submission for those who would like to have their OCs in this story. Write in review or PM, and I would gladly accept it. You only have to follow the rules:

\- Only **males** can be accepted

\- OCs has no superpowers

\- All ages will be brought to line at least to not more than 30 years old

\- No firearms, no futuristic weapons, just- yes, Jameson, a baseball bat is okay

All those rules above are only applicable in this one story. So if you can't adequate to the rules, you can still join in the next installation of the series.

Authors on the following list have given me their permissions to use their OCs :

 **Alexriolover95**

 **Headhusky**

 **Alex The Owl**

 **Ricardo the Black Hawk**

 **Tomadahawk**

 **Florafionpetals**

 **Jameson the Phoenix Owl**

Folks, I'll be so grateful if you can lend me your OCs. Be sure to leave a review because I want to know what you're thinking. So let's begin.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Day one**

He was standing, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air. That was how his new life began.

He fell down at the sudden movement on the metal floor beneath him and shuffled backward on his wings and feet. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he folded his wings around his body. He whimpered in pain just as he felt a jolt of nail-biting stretching pressure around his wings; as if a pair of metallic strings had been planted under every of his wing bones.

The room jerked upward with another jolt, like an old lift in a mine shaft. Harsh sounds like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he sat there, alone, waiting, heaving his chest up and down fast.

I- I'm a blue macaw, he thought.

That … that was the only thing he could remember about his life.

He didn't understand how this could be possible. He didn't even know his name. And yet he didn't know where he came from, or how he had got inside the dark lift, or who his parents were. Images of people flashed across his mind, but there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldn't think of one person he knew, or recall a single conversation. He remembered what trees were like, or how swift the breezing gentle wind beckoning through his feathers.

Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.

A sudden change jolted him from his huddled position and threw him across the hard floor, the rising room halted with a groan and a clank. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.

Minutes passed. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. For even a bird, he was hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his curled-fist wings. "Someone ... help me!" he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.

Nothing.

He backed into the corner once again, folded his wings and shivered, and the fear returned. Everything went colder. He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.

A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and the blue macaw watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both wings. "Ah!"

He heard noises above—voices—and his chest was squeezed by fear.

"Wow, look at that dude."

"It's another blue macaw."

"How old is he?"

"Looks like a dung in a blue-duster."

"You're the dung, chaff-face."

"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

A wave of confusion hit the blue macaw, he was blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with echo. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those who were speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies—avian figures bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing.

And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were birds, all of them were males—some young, some older, with different kind of species. The blue macaw didn't know what he'd expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him. They were just teenagers. Young-birds. Some of his fear melted away, but it was not enough to calm his racing heart.

Someone lowered a rope from above, and at the end of it was tied into a big loop.

"Hey, I know those wings are such a pain down there, so could ya just hold on this, chaff-face?"

The blue macaw knew he hesitated preferring to fly, and so he stepped into it with his right talon and wrapped his wings around the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Wings reached down, lots of feathered colorful wings, grabbing him by his shoulders, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, and throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but a white figure spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And he knew he'd never forget the words.

"Day one, _joelho_ ," the bird said. "Welcome to the Glade."

* * *

 **To be continued . . .**


	2. Dream

**Chapter 2 - Dream**

The helping wings and talons didn't stop swarming around him until he stood up straight and had the dust brushed from his blue feathers. Curiosity consumed him but he still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings.

His new companions. They had to be at least thirty of them, of all species and shapes and sizes, their bodies smudged and sweaty as if they'd been hard at work. The blue macaw suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes flickering between the birds and the bizarre place in which he'd found himself.

They were standing, in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of gray stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what he could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.

"Look at this Greenbean," a scratchy voice said; the blue macaw couldn't see who it came from. "He's gonna break his own neck checking out the new digs." Several birds laughed.

"Shut your hole, Snowy," a deeper voice responded.

The blue macaw focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him. A black spotted snowy owl with red eyes—the same one who'd welcomed him, sniffed at him, his face devoid of expression. A short, young skinny blue macaw with a pair of lenses and ruffled up hair feathers fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at the older blue macaw with wide eyes. A thick, yet pudgy black owl folded his wings as he studied the newcomer, he got a set of leather-belt to strap a baseball bat on his back. A tall peregrine falcon with bunch of cooking tools strapped on his back frowned. Countless others stared.

"W-Where am I?" The blue macaw asked, surprised at hearing his voice for the first time in his salvageable memory. It didn't sound quite right, higher than he would've imagined.

"Nowhere good." This came from the snowy owl, whom he presumed to be Snowy. "Just slim yourself nice and calm."

"Hey, which Keeper he's gonna get?" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"I told you, chaff-face," a shrill voice responded. "He's a dung, so he'll be a Slopper—no doubt about it." The bird giggled like he'd just said the funniest thing in history.

The gloomy feeling of confusing hopelessness, as if the world had ended for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something horrible. The blue macaw just wanted to run and hide from these people.

Snowy was talking. "—even do that much, bet my liver on it." The blue macaw still couldn't see his point.

"I said shut your holes, Snowy." The deeper voice yelled. "Keep yapping and next break will be cut in half."

That must be their leader, the blue macaw realized. Hating how everyone gawked at him, he concentrated on studying the place the owl had called the Glade.

Suddenly the leader of the group—perhaps he was twenty—took a step forward. He was a blue macaw, just like him. He got blue eyes, and a medium sized beak. Light blue feathers covered his face, chest, belly, while the rest of them were dark blue color. And specifically, he was wearing a stained scarf around his neck. For some reason the clothing here surprised the new blue macaw; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing—like prison garb. The leader of the group had small ruffle for his top hair feathers, his face was the cleanest among the others. But other than the permanent scowl, there was nothing scary about him at all.

"Can you tell us about yourself, who you are, where you come from ... anything? Can you tell me your name?" Questions were rushing out of the leader's beak.

"I-I can't remember anything. W-Why can't I remember any-"

"It's a long story, _joelho_ ," the leader interrupted. "Piece by piece, you'll learn—I'll be taking you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then … just don't break anything." He held a wing out. "Name's Husky." He waited, clearly wanting to shake wings.

The blue macaw refused. Some instinct took over his actions and without saying anything he turned away from Husky. He plopped down to sit. Pain swelled inside his wing bones once again, almost too much to bear. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to try to accept the situation.

"Then tell me," he called out, struggling to keep his voice even. "T-Tell me the long story. Seriously," he said, giving up on the show of courage. "Where am I?"

"Dang it," Husky said, rubbing his eyes. "Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill _joelho_ like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever."

Husky paused, and the blue macaw realized his face under his feathers must have whitened even more when he heard that last part.

"Man," Husky said, then ran his wings over his hair feathers as he let out a long sigh. "I ain't good at this—you're the first Greenbean since Nick was killed."

The blue macaw's eyes widened, then a scarlet macaw stepped up and playfully slapped Husky across the head. "Wait for the Tour, Husky," he said. "This kid's gonna have a freaking heart attack that nothing has even been heard yet." He bent down and extended his wing toward the blue macaw. "Name's Alex, Greenie, and we would all be right cheery if you would forgive our dung-for-brains leader, here."

The blue macaw reached out and shook the scarlet macaw's wing—he seemed a lot nicer than Husky. Alex was at the same height as Husky, but looked to be a year or so younger. He had a white beak and face, with red, yellow, and blue on his wings. He also got some crossed-leather belt around his shoulder to strap a katana on his back, with the blue macaw having no ideas what actually it was for.

Husky scoffed. "At least he can understand half my words." There were a few scattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Husky and Alex, packing in even tighter, waiting to hear what they said.

Husky spread his wings out. "This place is called the Glade, all right? It's where we live, where we eat, where we grow our own foods, and where we sleep—we call ourselves the Gladers. That's all you need. Ain't got time to be nice, Greenbean. Old life's over, new life's begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, and don't talk. You get me?"

The blue macaw looked over at Alex, hoping for help. Everything inside him churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes.

Alex nodded. "Greenie, you get him, right?" He nodded again.

The blue macaw nervously answered, "y-yeah."

"Good that," Husky said. "First Day. That's what today is for you, _joelho_. Night is coming; the Seekers will be back soon. The Box came late today, ain't got time for the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." He turned toward Alex. "Get him a bed, get him to sleep."

"Good that," Alex said.

Husky's eyes returned to the blue macaw. "A few weeks, you'll be happy, _joelho_. You'll be happy and helping. None of us knew anything on First Day, you neither. New life ... begins tomorrow."

Husky turned and pushed his way through the crowd, then headed for the slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the birds wandered away then, each one giving the blue macaw a lingering look before they walked off.

The blue macaw folded his wings, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by a sadness that hurt his heart. It was all too much—where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? None of the boys seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come.

"W-What did I do?" he whispered, not really meaning for anyone to hear him. "What did I do—w-why would they send me here? W-Why can't I remember anything?"

Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "Greenie, what you're feeling, we've all felt it. We have all had First Day, felt pain on the wings, and come out of that dark box. Things are bad, and they'll get much worse for you soon, that's the truth. But down the road a piece, you'll be fighting true and good. I can tell you are not a sissy."

"Is this a prison?" The blue macaw asked, trying to find a crack to his past.

"Done asked four questions, haven't you?" Alex replied. "No good answers for you, not yet, anyway—morn comes tomorrow."

The blue macaw said nothing, his head sunk, his eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground.

"Diaglo will be a good fit for you," Alex stated. "He's a fishbone daredevil, but a nice sap when all were said and done. Stay here, I'll find Diaglo and tell him he's in charge of your sleeping arrangements." And then he turned and flew in the direction of a farmyard, smoothly flapping his wings.

The blue macaw slid down the rough face of the tree until he sat on the ground again; he shrank back against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.

* * *

 **To be continued . . .**

* * *

 **\- Husky belongs to HeadHusky**

 **\- Alex belongs to Alexriolover95**

 **\- Snowy belongs to Alex The Owl**


	3. Fishbone

**Third chapter, and I would like to say thanks to those who have already submitted their OCs. This part will introduce someone special.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - Fishbone**

The blue macaw was sitting there for some moments, he was way too overwhelmed to move. A moment later, he finally forced himself to look over at the surroundings. A group of birds milled around outside of the wooden building, glancing anxiously at the upper holes as if expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.

An electric clicking sound from the blue sky above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing in front of his sight. He scrambled to his feet and walked around the field, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he'd heard, but he saw only bare light atmosphere sky, and looking just as normal.

"That was one of the sky blades," someone said.

The blue macaw turned to his right to see another blue macaw standing nearby, short and thin, staring at him. He was young, probably the youngest of any in the group he'd seen so far, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. His pointy hair feathers ruffled up. A pair of lenses shone through an otherwise pitiful eyes, with some kind of a wooden thing attached on his left talon.

The blue macaw nodded at him. "A-a sky what?"

"Sky blade," the young macaw said, pointing to the sky. "They won't blast you unless you're stupid enough to fly that high." He paused. " _Joelho_." He didn't sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn't quite joined the ranks of the Gladers yet.

"Your wings. How are you feeling?" The young macaw questioned, his voice still carried the high pitch of childhood making it sounded like he had already known the answer.

"Still hurt." The blue macaw folded his wings, not like the malicious way the boy had said the words. "It feels like someone just put something inside them."

"Yeah, you'll get better soon."

"What's even in there?"

"Better hope you never find out, but that prevents a Greenbean like you to not do something stupid," the kid answered, looking far too comfortable for the situation. He held out his tiny wing. "My name's Diaglo. I was the Greenbean until you showed up."

 _This_ is my guide for the night? The blue macaw thought. He couldn't shake his extreme discomfort, and now annoyance crept in as well. Nothing made sense; his head hurt.

"W-why is everyone calling me Greenbean?" he asked, shaking Diaglo's wing quickly, then letting go.

"Cuz you're the newest Newbie." Diaglo pointed at him and laughed. "It's basically the same story for all of us. We wake up in the Box, Husky says he'll give us around the Tour, and then here we are."

The newest blue macaw sighed in frustration and leaned back against the tree. "Looks like you barely know more than I do," he said, but he knew it wasn't true. His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the scenery of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it miserable and confusing to read.

"Don't worry. You've done it better than I did; I peed myself three times before they got me out of the Box." The kid once again laughed.

But the blue macaw stood up and walked past Diaglo toward the old shack. With a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivy-strewn stone walls rising up behind it. As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of bread cooking made his stomach grumble.

"I think we should go and see Tomada first." Diaglo stated on hearing the noise, the blue macaw turned back to the kid.

"T-Tomada?"

"You can barely miss it. He's the peregrine falcon with cool cooking stuffs. The one and only cook here." Diaglo replied, his voice was cheery, as if not being able to wait any longer to show him around to meet the other Gladers.

"I'm not sure if I can ever eat again." Not after everything that happened.

Diaglo nodded. "Yeah, you will. I'll meet you at the same tree as before. Ten minutes."

The blue macaw was more than happy to head back toward the tree. He'd only known what it was like to be alive here for a short while and he already wanted it to end. He wished for all the world he could remember something about his previous life. Anything. His name, his mom, his dad, his home, a friend, a hobby. A girl.

He leaned against the tree as he waited for Diaglo. He scanned the compound of the Glade, this new place of nightmares where he seemed destined to live. The shadows from the walls had lengthened violently, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side.

At least this helped him know directions—the wooden building crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest. The farm area, where a few birds were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of the Glade.

In the exact middle of the courtyard, several birds were loading provisions out of the still-gaping hole of the Box that laid open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home.

The blue macaw had just moved his attention to the four vast openings in the middle of the main walls of the Glade when Diaglo arrived, a couple of breads cradled in his wings, along with mangoes and two wooden cups of water. The sense of relief that flooded through the blue macaw surprised him—he wasn't completely alone in this place.

"Tomada wasn't too happy about me invading his kitchen before suppertime," Diaglo said, sitting down next to the tree, motioning to the blue macaw to do the same. He did, grabbed the bread. Soon, though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of cheese, sprinkles, and mayonnaise filled his mouth.

"Oh my gosh," the blue macaw mumbled through a mouthful. "I was starving."

"Told ya." Diaglo chomped into his own bread. After another couple of bites, Diaglo finally asked him something important. "What's your name?"

"W-What?"

"Your name? You still haven't told us—and I know you remember that much."

.

.

.

"Blu." He barely heard himself say it—his thoughts had spun in a new direction. If Diaglo was right, he'd just discovered a link to the rest of the others. A common pattern to their memory losses. He, and the rest of the Gladers had eventually remembered their names. Why not their parents' names? Why not a friend's name? Why not their last names?

"Nice to meet you, Blue," Diaglo smiled. "Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. I've been here a whole month, and I know the place inside and out. You can count on this fishbone, okay?"

Blu smiled back in return. Then for the second time in his thought, he wasn't completely alone in this place.

* * *

 **To be continued . . .**

* * *

 **\- Diaglo belongs to Florafionpetals**


	4. Puppies

**Chapter 4 - Puppies**

* * *

Blu continued to eat, munching on the mangoes as he studied the huge breaks in the walls. Though it was hard to make out from where he sat, there was something odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outside corridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at the towering walls, as if he was hovering above them instead of sitting at their base.

"Hey, what's out there?" Blu asked, finally breaking the silence. "I-is this part of a huge castle or something?"

Diaglo looked hesitated and uncomfortable. "Um, I've never been outside the Glade."

Blu paused. "No. No, you're hiding something," he finally replied, finishing off his last bite and taking a long swig of water. The frustration at getting no answers from anyone was starting to grind his nerves. It only made it worse to think that even if he did get answers, he wouldn't know if he'd be getting the truth. "Why are you guys so secretive?"

"That's just the way it is. Things are really weird around here, and most of us don't know everything. Half of everything."

"W-What?" It bothered Blu that Diaglo didn't seem to care about what he'd just said. That he seemed indifferent to having his life taken away from him. What was wrong with these people? Blu got to his feet and started walking toward the big opening. "Well, if that's it. No one said I couldn't look around." He needed to learn something or he was going to lose his mind.

"Hey, wait!" Diaglo cried, running to catch up. "Blue, where are you going?"

"I-I just want to see, and it's actually 'Blu', without 'e'." Blu corrected, not even slowing down.

"Okay, Blu, you can look around all you want but you better not go out there. Those puppies are about to close." Diaglo said when he caught up with him, already sounded out of breath.

"Close?" Blu repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"The Doors, you _joelho_."

"D-Doors? I don't see any doors." Blu knew he was missing something obvious. He grew uneasy and realized he'd slowed his pace, not so eager to reach the walls anymore.

"What do you call those big openings?" Diaglo pointed up at the enormously tall gaps in the walls. They were only thirty feet away now. "Well, they're doors. And they close up every night."

Blu stopped, thinking Diaglo had to have said something wrong. He looked up, looked side to side, examined the massive slabs of stone as the uneasy feeling blossomed into outright dread. "What do you mean, they close?"

They reached the huge split that led outside to more stone pathways. Blu gaped, his mind emptying of thought as he saw it all firsthand.

Blu was shocked by how much bigger it was up close. At least twenty feet across, the break in the wall went all the way to the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast opening were smooth, except for one odd, repeating pattern on both sides. On the left side of the Door, there were deep holes several inches in diameter and spacing a foot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground and continuing all the way up. On the right side of the Door, there were foot-long rods jutting out from the wall edge, also several inches in diameter, in the same pattern as the holes facing them on the other side. The purpose was obvious.

"A-Are you kidding?" Blu asked, the dread slamming back into his gut. "You weren't playing with me? The walls really move?"

"What else would I have meant? I just know what I'm told. We're not supposed to leave."

Blu had a hard time wrapping his mind around the possibility. And the idea of those walls closing and trapping him inside this place they called the Glade was downright terrifying.

His heart skipped a beat when two birds unexpectedly appeared around a corner up ahead, entering the main passage from one of the offshoots to the right, low flying toward him and the Glade. One was a black hawk, and the other one was a barn owl. Covered in sweat, their leather vests sticking to their bodies, their wings clutched tight their fingerless gloves, they didn't slow, quickly glancing at Blu and Diaglo as they went past.

"Yo, Diaglo. New Greenie, huh? How does it feel to be promoted?" The barn owl smirked as he and the black hawk headed straight for the squat concrete building located near the Box.

"Feels great, Apoo!" Diaglo yelled back, wing spread out with a thumb-up pose.

Blu turned as they passed, his eyes riveted to the exhausted birds, unsure why this new development surprised him so much. There couldn't be much good about the outside world if these guys came back looking so weary and worn.

Before Blu had any more chance to think, questions were rushing out of his beak. "Who are those guys and what were they doing? I thought no one was allowed to leave." He wheeled around and pointed out the Door. He felt a rattling pressure of uncertainty, making his head splinter with pain.

Diaglo threw his wings up, a bit frustrated. "I said 'we' are not supposed to leave. They're different, they're the Seekers. They know more about the maze than anyone."

Blu, his attention suddenly snapped up by a new detail, turned to face the younger macaw. "W-what did you just say?"

"Huh?"

"Y-You just called it a maze—you said, 'they know more about the maze than anyone.'"

Diaglo's face reddened under his feathers. "D-Did I?"

"Yeah." Blu was now more interested than ever in the outside of the Glade. A maze? In front of him, through the Door, he could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. And the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glade, the ground made of the same massive stone blocks as in the courtyard. The ivy seemed even thicker out there. In the distance, more breaks in the walls led to other paths, and farther down, maybe a hundred yards or so away, the straight passage came to a dead end.

"W-Wow, looks like a maze," Blu whispered, almost laughing to himself. As if things couldn't have gotten any stranger. They'd wiped his memory and put him inside a gigantic maze. It was all so crazy it really did seem funny. He was standing right a few feet away from the gigantic entrance, until Diaglo called him, almost screaming.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I-I just wanna take a look." Blu stepped forward, wanting to see the Maze for himself, as if the answers were printed on the walls out there. Until . . .

"Hey!" A scratchy familiar voice suddenly struck to his side, and before Blu could even see who yelled, someone held out wings and pushed him in the chest, sent him stumbling backward, his back kissing the ground first. Blu coughed up the dust a couple of times as he tried to adjust his eyes to see whoever did this to him. Snowy was standing there.

Blu's heart sank in surrender. And by the look of the owl's eyes, everything seemed to indicate that he would be getting a fist in the face. "G-Get away from me," he said, through trying to get up on his feet.

"We gotta avoid meeting something like this, Greenie." Snowy snarled. He ambled up to Blu slowly and stopped right in front of him. "We're trying to protect you. For your own good! We can not let some _joelho_ like you leave! You got me, chaff-face?" Blu didn't say anything. He was definitely uncomfortable but not nearly as scared as a few moments earlier.

A loud boom exploded through the air, making Blu jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbled backward, and fell to the ground again. It felt as if the whole earth shook; he looked around, panicked. The walls were closing. The walls were really closing—trapping him inside the Glade. An onrushing sense of claustrophobia stifled him, compressed his lungs, as if water filled their cavities.

"Calm down, Greenie," the snowy owl yelled over the noise. "It's just the walls!"

Blu barely heard him, too fascinated, too shaken by the closing of the Door. He scrambled to his feet and took a few trembling steps back for a better view, finding it hard to believe what his eyes were seeing.

He watched as the right wall reached the end of its journey, its connecting rods finding their mark and entering without a glitch. An echoing boom rumbled across the Glade as the Door sealed shut for the night. Blu felt one final moment of trepidation, a quick slice of fear through his body, and then it vanished.

A surprising sense of calm eased his nerves; he let out a long sigh of relief. "W-Wow," he said, feeling chaff at such a monumental understatement.

Blu looked around one more time, the feel of the place completely different now that all the walls were solid with no way out. He tried to imagine the purpose of such a thing, and he didn't know which guess was worse—that they were being sealed in or that they were being protected from something out there. The thought ended his brief moment of calm, stirring in his mind a million possibilities of what might live in the maze outside, all of them terrifying. Fear gripped him once again.

"Next time, I'm gonna let you leave." Blu watched as the snow owl bully headed into the Homestead. He couldn't remember much, but something told him he'd never disliked someone so strongly. He was surprised by how much he truly hated the owl. He really, really hated him.

Someone tugged on his wing, breaking him from his thoughts; Diaglo had come back to his sight. "Come on," he said, pulling at Blu's wing a second time. "Trust me, when nighttime strikes, you gonna know a lot about these people."

Blu knew he had no other choice. He did his best to suppress everything he was feeling and followed, away from these puppies.

* * *

 **To be continued . . .**

* * *

 **Apoo/Apollo belongs to Alex The Owl**


End file.
